


you know the way back home

by phcbosz



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Menstruation, Trans Rick Grimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phcbosz/pseuds/phcbosz
Summary: When he sits down on the toilet and sighs with relief, it takes him a few seconds to look down. Right there in the middle of his blue boxers, is blood.





	you know the way back home

**Author's Note:**

> warning: a lot of talk about menstruation, might make you uncomfortable! i think thats it, idk.

Rick wakes up slowly. He doesn’t really want to open his eyes. He is warm and cozy just where he is, and his face is buried in what he presumes to be Negan’s hair, all senses overridden by the man’s shampoo. Not to mention that Negan is laying on his arm and Rick doesn’t want to risk waking the man up from his peaceful slumber by trying to move.

But he has to pee. Really bad. So, he begrudgingly opens his eyes, blinks against the sunlight streaming through their windows. He is tired--or more like he is still sleepy, and he knows washing his face will wash it all away, but he childishly does not want to get up to do that.

God. It’s a Sunday! Shouldn’t he be allowed some rest and a lazy morning? Sighing to himself, Rick knows he is being dramatic. So, he counts to three. Then untangles himself from Negan by pulling his arm away--or tries to.

Negan stirs but does not move other than that, and Rick exhales the breath he was holding. Negan is an extremely light sleeper, sometimes waking up during the night because Rick moved too much on the bed. It’s ridiculous.

With a small pep talk inside his head, Rick tries again. And this time he manages to pull his arm away, feeling the pins and needles instantly now that the weight is gone. Damn Negan and his tendency to always move to the position of the little spoon. It’s not the first time Rick has woken up with a numb arm.

Just as he is about to get off the bed -with small movement- he hears Negan groan. That’s the sign that the man has woken up because Negan is not a morning bird by any means and his regular good morning is a long-suffering groan, released in the most dramatic way possible as if Negan woke up to the dead walking and not just a normal day.

“What’cha doing?” Negan’s voice is thick with sleep and just the right amount of husky. His eyes are glazed when he turns around to look at Rick, eyelids half-lidded, and brows furrowed as if there can’t be any reason for Rick to leave the bed.

Leaning into the touch when Negan reaches out to brush a stray curl behind his ear Rick chuckles. “I’m going to the bathroom, Negan. Do you wanna come with?”

Negan’s face doesn’t really change but Rick sees the flicker of something in his eyes. He winces internally. Normally, Negan is fine with all kinds of jokes, but some days, or when he has newly woken up, the man is more fragile, and one little tease at his neediness and the man closes in himself, somehow seeming miles away.

Rick keeps his little smile up. Reaching out he takes Negan’s hand in his own and places a kiss inside the man’s palm. He doesn’t apologize because Negan gets defensive when he realizes Rick noticed that he is a human being with emotions and insecurities. “You gonna give me a morning kiss?” He asks instead.

Negan huffs out and doesn’t waste any more seconds before he is pulling Rick into a lazy kiss, slow and familiar. They both have morning breath, but it doesn’t matter at all.

When they break apart, Rick rests his forehead on Negan’s, their breaths meeting between their faces like an embrace. “I love you,” he says, because he promised himself that he would tell that to Negan every day until the man never doubted it again.

Negan smirks. “I love you more,” he says it like a challenge. Negan Grimes, ever the competitor, Rick thinks with a small chuckle.

“If you love me you should let me go so, I can pee.” Negan pouts comically at that, looking like a child who’s about to lose his favorite toy. Well. Rick thinks maybe that’s not so inaccurate.

When he tries to pull away, Negan’s hand finds its place on his waist, gripping with purpose. “Don’t leave,” the man says it like Rick will be gone for years and not just for a minute. “You can piss on me, babe!”

Rick rolls his eyes while grimacing. “You’re disgusting,” he tells the man as seriously as he can while trying not to laugh. Negan looks proud of himself, like he always does when he gets a reaction out of Rick.

“Look, I’m not saying I have a fucking piss kink, but I love you so much I wouldn’t mind if you took a shit in my mouth let alone give me a golden fucking shower, Rick.”

Rick blinks and decides that it’s too early to unpack all of that. “That’s corny,” he settles for saying, and then with one quick movement gets off the bed when Negan is distracted.

Negan makes some sort of sound, like a whine, and Rick thinks if he was standing, he would be stomping his foot on the ground like an angry child. He finds himself chuckling at the mental image. “Yeah, go ahead, laugh at my fucking pain, Rick.”

Rick flips Negan off and the man doesn’t even bother to give him a reaction before he tugs the sheets over himself again, burying his face in the pillows. Rick allows it because Carl won’t be up until the afternoon, enjoying his Sunday by sleeping, so there is no reason Negan should be awake this early.

That could be me if it wasn’t for my small bladder, Rick thinks, and with one last longing look thrown at their bed, leaves.

The bathroom is not really that cold, but Rick finds himself shivering anyway, probably because he just left his warm, warm bed, and his lover’s heat. God. It’s such a normal morning that Rick could never expect what happens next.

When he sits down on the toilet and sighs with relief, it takes him a few seconds to look down. Right there in the middle of his blue boxers, is blood.

Rick is really stupid because his first thought is ‘I’m injured’ and he feels his mouth fall open with a gasp, thinking about what could have caused the injury.

When he realizes what’s going on his heart drops. In that moment, for how long Rick doesn’t know, it feels like the worst thing to ever happen to him.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, he is just aware that somewhere along the way, his breathing slows down from panicked to an alarming state of calm. He doesn’t know how long he sits there but by the time he gets up, he gets dizzy and his vision is fuzzy, black around the edges.

His legs are so numb that he can barely walk, and he doesn’t even react to the blood on the toilet paper after he wipes. He is just going through the motions, but he doesn’t know what the motions are supposed to be.

What are you supposed to do if your period is suddenly back after not having one for about five years? God.

Tampons, he thinks. I need some tampons. When he pulls his sweatpants and boxers back up, he grimaces at the wet feeling that suddenly haunts his mind. When he passes by the mirror on his way to the cabinet, he checks his ass to confirm that the blood didn’t seep through.

He doesn’t know how he would explain to Negan that he has to get out of bed because they need to change the sheets because Rick is on his period and he ruined the sheets by bleeding on them and probably by the time he realized the blood even seeped into the mattress--

Calm down, he tells himself. Opens the cabinet. Digs through it. _Stupidstupidstupid_ \--of course they don’t have tampons or pads! Rick is in a gay relationship. He has a fifteen-year-old son, a seven-year-old daughter--why would they have tampons?

He needs to buy some. God. How will he tell Negan? What will the man say? God. Negan had a wife before. Surely, he is not disgusted by periods--but then, Rick finds himself nauseous. Something about thinking about Negan’s wife and periods and suddenly he is thinking of himself as Negan’s wife--

Stop. Stop panicking, he repeats. Make a list. That will help.

First thing first, he needs to make an emergency pad out of some toilet paper--no. First, he needs to change his boxers--where will he put the bloody boxers then?

Shit. He will change the boxers, make an emergency pad with toilet papers, then he will wash the bloody boxers, get the blood out before he throws them in the washer, and then he will go to the nearest store, buy some tampons--or pads. Buy some pads. Then he will put them on. When he needs to change them, he will change them, flush the used pad away, and go through his day like nothing happened. Negan doesn’t have to know. Will never know.

Somehow, he is surprised when he feels a hysterical giggle leave his lips. He feels like a criminal hiding evidence. The blood doesn’t help his case.

Getting out of the bathroom is a chore on its own. Rick doesn’t feel like facing the music at the moment. But he has to. As he is walking to the bedroom, he feels like a thief, walking with the lightest footsteps, close to the wall to the avoid being seen.

He hides from something he doesn’t even understand in his own home. Jesus.

He pushes the door to the bedroom as slowly as possible, holding it just before the spot where it makes that squeaky noise. Slides in through the small gap, closing his eyes tightly when he makes the smallest of sounds.

When he doesn’t see Negan in the bed, or anywhere in the room, he doesn’t know if he should be relieved or nervous. Not knowing Negan’s current location is surely not going to help him--he doesn’t want to come across the man in the hallways or something, where Negan would surely start asking questions.

But not having Negan in the room means he can move as quickly as he can, without worrying about making a sound. He takes out fresh boxers and a pair of socks as fast as he can, speed walks back to the bathroom. When he locks the door behind himself, he breathes a sigh of relief, resting his head against the wood for a second.

It’s like his mind flies away, and he works on autopilot when he changes his boxers and makes some sort of pad with toilet paper. He puts on his socks.

When he washes the dirty boxers in the sink, he thanks God that the blood is not soaked in too much so only cold water is enough to wash away the _evidence_. He watches the brown water go down the drain, his hands getting numb from the cold, and he can’t help but feel as numb as them.

Throwing the now wet boxers into the washer feels like a victory. Small. But still. You did that, you can do the rest, Rick tells himself. You just have to keep going. Keep going.

So, he moves. As he walks down the stairs, the smell of breakfast -bacon, and eggs, he guesses- gets stronger and stronger. He can hear the faint sound of Negan whistling to himself coming from the kitchen.

God, how long was he in the bathroom? He pushes his curls back from his forehead and then realizes he hasn’t even combed his hair--hasn’t even brushed his teeth. He can’t remember if he even washed his hands or face, but he thinks he did. He is not sure.

Too late now, he thinks, avoid the kitchen and makes a beeline for the bowl on the coffee table, where his car keys are. He doesn’t notice when the whistling stops, doesn’t hear the sound of footsteps coming closer. He pockets the keys just as he hears Negan’s surprised voice. “Oh! There you fucking are!”

Rick feels his face pale drastically, but he knows he has to turn around. He can’t afford to get Negan suspicious. Just pretend, he tells himself. It will all be over soon.

“You were in there for so fucking long I was about to send a search party,” he hears Negan chuckle, turns around with a small smile that feels like plastic sticking to his lips. Negan’s face drops. “Rick? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just about to go to the grocery store.” At Negan’s confused look, Rick feels a little lost himself, so he points to the door behind him with his thumb.

“You don’t look so good, baby.” With big steps, Negan strides over to him, and Rick can’t look the man in the eye, so he looks at the dishrag thrown over his shoulder. “Are you feeling sick?”

Rick ducks away when he feels Negan’s wet, cold hand against his forehead, feeling like ants are crawling underneath his skin. He feels as if Negan touches him the man will know. Or if he gets close enough, he will smell the blood like a shark--god, that’s disgusting.

He takes a step back, feels like it’s easier to breathe without Negan suffocating his space, but he can’t breathe at all because Negan looks confused, but he looks more hurt than confused--

“No, I’m fine. It’s nothing.” He is being such a little bitch about it, but he feels like he is watching himself from third perspective, and he can’t help but wait for himself to do something, anything, but his body is pale and distant eyed, and the shell of himself doesn’t move, just stands there, doesn’t make eye contact when Negan searches his face for whatever.

Anything, Rick thinks. Just rub his arm and it will be okay. Just do something, Rick thinks. He can’t move.

“Why do you need to go to the grocery store?”

“Milk. For Judith.” He even offers a small smile with that perfect delivery. Negan is not moved.

His brows furrow in confusion and his mouth is set in a white firm line. “We have milk, baby. I bought some yesterday.”

Rick shakes his head, feeling frustrated. Why does Negan have to ask so many questions? Can’t he just let Rick go for once? “I should go,” he says because he doesn’t know how to reply to that without making it obvious, he is lying.

When he takes another step back Negan’s hand reaches out like he is about to grab Rick’s wrist, but the man pulls away before their skin can make contact. The dishrag moves down his shoulder, on the verge of falling. “I don’t think you should drive, Rick. You don’t look so hot.” Negan sounds concerned but Rick doesn’t have in it him to reassure the man. “I made breakfast, baby, why don’t you just go eat while I pick up the milk?”

_God, why can’t you stop being so damn clingy for a few seconds, Negan?_ He imagines himself--his body that doesn’t look like him saying, and can almost taste the venom on his tongue, imagine Negan’s face. Such simple words, and he thinks about how many months of progress they would erase.

Instead, his body--he smiles.

_(Is he losing it?)_

“It’s okay, Negan. I’ll be fine, baby,” it sounds as convincing as it can with how much of a bad liar he is. It would be more convincing if Rick took Negan’s hand in his own, rubbed the man’s wrist, or pecked the man’s lips--he can almost feel it, his lips tingle and his hands feel cold by his sides, but he can’t force himself to do it. Still, small wonders. He doesn’t snap at Negan.

The man does not look convinced but begrudgingly accepts it with a small sigh, and when he moves, the dishrag falls. Negan doesn’t look like he notices it, still staring at Rick with his big concerned eyes, like Rick just told him he has cancer--fuck. Bad comparison, Rick, he scolds himself.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says as a goodbye, and leaves without saying anything else. He can feel Negan watching him leave, can feel the longing coming off of the man like waves, like Rick will leave and never come back again.

When Rick closes the door behind himself, he also feels like he will leave and never come back again.

*

At the grocery store, Rick feels like he is dreaming. Having a nightmare. He is constantly aware of the wetness between his thigh, and every second he dreads the moment it starts seeping through his sweatpants, dripping down his thighs--

When he picks up a pack of pads his mind whispers to him to pick some more. Rick used to hoard pads because he didn’t like going out every month to buy them. Somewhere inside his mind, a voice whispers to him to buy more, five packs, six packs, his period is here to stay--

Rick shuts it off. Not only because he thinks this is a one-time thing but because he knows if he buys more than one pack, he won’t be able to hide it from Negan.

As the cashier rings the pads, Rick sweats through his t-shirt despite the chilly weather. She looks at him curiously and Rick knows--sheknowssheknowshecantelleverybodycantellRick--

His own mind is taunting him and when he hands the money to the girl, he doesn’t even wait for the change and leaves as fast as he can.

When he opens the door, he can hear chatter coming from the kitchen. He clutches the bag in his hand tighter, black by his request, so nobody can glance at what’s inside. The door still makes a sound even though he shuts it softly and he hears the chatter stop for a heart-stopping moment.

Then he hears footsteps. He doesn’t think. Not really. He runs to the stairs, and he doesn’t stop running until he is locked inside the bedroom. He thinks maybe he can hear Negan’s curious voice, but everything is muffled by the sound of his blood rushing through his ears.

Sitting on the toilet once again, Rick dies, a little. His boxers are a mess, the blood even went through to his sweatpants, and there is no way to solve it other than changing both. Even if Rick puts on a pad then, it won’t change anything.

Feeling the burning of tears in his eyes, Rick bites into his wrist and tries to thinkthinkthink--

Then, there is a knock on the door. “Rick?” Negan sounds concerned, worried. “You okay in there?”

There is no way Rick will be able to go to the bedroom and take some fresh clothes without Negan noticing, without Negan interrogating him.

“I’m okay,” Rick calls out, wipes the tears from his cheeks, surprised he actually cried because he didn’t even feel it.

“You sure--”

“God, Negan,” Rick snaps, pulling at his curls. It’s so sudden, it even surprises him. But then he realizes, this person, creature he turned into, is not him, it’s a being of panic, born into a crisis, born into this chaos Rick found himself in, with his next words. “Can’t you just leave me alone for at least a few minutes?”

There is silence, then. Rick immediately feels himself be drowned in guilt, like icy water being dumped over his head. Sitting on the toilet with blood drying between his legs, Rick shivers, and he weeps.

“Okay, Rick,” Negan finally says, and his voice is not his voice anymore. Then, because he is Negan, he adds, “I’ll be downstairs, if you need me.”

Fuck, Rick thinks, you are a fucking monster, Rick thinks, “Get your shit together,” Rick says, then wipes his yet again wet cheeks.

Sniffs. New plan is this -because this wasn’t part of the plan, but plans can change, it’s okay, Rick can make a new list, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine-, go to his room, take out fresh clothes, have a shower, change, and then put on a pad.

Then, when it’s time to change the pad again, Rick will do it, like he has done so many years of his life. He remembers how it was like--of course he does. You don’t forget something like that, no matter how long it has been, five years, or even if it was fifty, Rick knows he will always remember, the smell of blood, the lack of his heart inside his chest, not being able to breathe like he bled out his lungs--

He gets up, pulls up his pants and boxers, and grimaces. It’s wet, and tacky. He hates it, but that’s kind of a given, at this point. This time, he makes a point to wash his hands, before he leaves.

He tiptoes to the bedroom, feeling like a ghost floating through the halls, like a being without a soul.

Inside the room, Negan. The man looks up when he hears Rick open the door, and they both freeze, wearing matching looks of deer caught in the headlights.

“Rick,” Negan breathes out, and Rick knows how he looks in that moment. Red cheeks, red nose, red eyes, red blood covering his back, the inside of his thighs.

“You told me you would be downstairs,” Rick says, accuses, and his hands fly to his curls again, a nervous habit he was so sure that he stopped doing, but there he is, pulling, and pulling.

“Shit, sorry,” Negan flinches, sharply, looks away, like he was sinning, existing in his own home, and Rick could die from the guilt alone, knowing he is making Negan feel like all the people he ever cursed, _who made Negan feels this way_ , lying awake at night, listening to Negan breathe. “I just--I forgot my phone.”

Rick sobs, then, and his hands drop from his curls to press against his mouth, in hopes of muffling it, anything. He doesn’t trust himself with words, doesn’t trust himself to not destroy Negan right then and there.

“Baby--Rick, what’s wrong?” Negan asks, stepping forward, but it’s hesitant, in the room, in the air, and Negan’s hands are shaking. Then, Negan breaks, “What did I do?” He asks, like he is begging for mercy, begging forgiveness for his sins, like he did anything wrong at all.

“Not everything is about you!” Rick chokes out, still so cruel, still so mean, and he thinks, shit, wrong thing to say, because Negan is flinching, and Negan is slipping away. Rick just can’t control what he says in that moment, because he is stuck, where running away means Negan finds out, and staying means Negan finds out, and Rick is stuck in this body that just can’t ever work right--

In the silence, they stare at each for a few seconds, and Negan looks a little teary-eyed, a little numb. Rick doesn’t even want to know what he looks like. In the silence, Rick comes to a realization.

All this running away, is exhausting him, and it’s costing him Negan, and it’s costing him everything. So, with a sniff, he looks up, puts on a brave face, and his voice doesn’t even shake when he speaks, “I’m on my period.”

One second, two, three, “Oh, _baby,_ ” Negan whispering, and then, Rick doesn’t know who takes a step first, maybe they both do, but in between a breath and the next, the distance between them that seemed like miles a second ago is not even as wide as a hair strand, and Rick is pressing his head into Negan’s chest, where it is familiar, and Rick sobs, like he has only been waiting for this.

*

It’s embarrassing, to have to admit to Negan that he needs to take a shower and change his clothes, but Negan acts casual about it. That scares and relieves Rick at the same time. On one hand, he doesn’t want anything about this to be casual, he doesn’t want this to ever become their normal, but on the other hand, Negan balances Rick’s panic with his calm state.

After a shower and fresh pajamas, smelling just delicious, Rick goes to the bedroom to see the bed ready for him, and breakfast on a tray, on the nightstand.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Rick says, but gratefully slips into bed, where it still smells of Negan.

“Think of it as a sick day,” Negan says, but then seems hesitant, “Or a fucking mental health day. Whatever.”

There is still that edge to Negan, on the clench of his jaw, the subtle shakiness of his hands, and Rick knows he has to do something to solve it, he needs to say anything, but he doesn’t know what.

“What’s Judith and Carl doing?” He asks, instead.

“Carl’s still asleep, baby,” Negan says, and looking at the time, Rick sees that it’s only 10 am. It seems ridiculous to him that he went through all of that in such little time, all that chaos, in under two hours, but times flies by while you are having a mental breakdown, he guesses. “Judith had breakfast, she’s watching TV now.”

Rick hums, and a comfortable silence settles over the room like a blanket. Negan stands there, crosses his arms in front of his chest. The man is hovering, and they both seem to realize it at the same time, because suddenly Negan clears his throat, points behind him, to the door, “Right, I should--”

“Negan,” Rick interrupts, taking a gentle hold of the man’s wrist, and he swears he feels the man’s pulse jump, “I’m sorry about what I said, earlier.”

Negan blinks, then, “Don’t fucking apologize, baby. Shit wasn’t your fault.”

“No, I snapped at you, and I’m sorry,” Negan is never too good at accepting apologies, Rick knows. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Rick,” Negan laughs, and Rick is still holding his arm, tracing shapes with his thumb, “I _was_ being a clingy fucking asshole.”

“You know that’s not how I feel,” Rick says, and presses a kiss to Negan’s inner wrist, like the gentle touch of a butterfly, and it kind of tickles Negan, kind of not. “I love you.”

After four years, Negan still has the ability blush under the light of those words, and after four years, it’s still the prettiest thing Rick has ever seen. Then, Negan is caressing his cheekbone, softly, with longing, like he hasn’t touched Rick in years, like every second spent without him was a decade instead, and he says, with a lopsided grin, “I love you more.”

Rick rolls his eyes, like he always does, because ‘arguing’ about that gets them nowhere. When Negan leaves, his shoulders are a little more relaxed, he seems a lot lighter.

Rick eats his breakfast, lays around doing nothing, watching daytime TV and eating chocolate, until he feels ready to go downstairs.

In the kitchen, there is noise. When he enters, he smells freshly baked cake, and his eyes soon focus on Carl texting on his phone, while Negan and Judith, covered in flour, are doing something that looks like decorating, at the counter.

“Good morning,” he calls out, and everybody’s head snaps to him.

A chorus of greetings flow, then, and Carl offers him a smile before he goes back to his phone.

There is something about Negan that always gets Rick drunk on love, and it’s the way Negan always looks at him, mesmerized, like Rick is holding the secret to the universe behind his closed lips, like there are galaxies in Rick’s eyes.

Negan looks at him like that, then. Throws a lopsided grin, the one Rick fell in love with. “Rick,” The man booms, soft music playing in the background. “Come check this shit out!”

“Daddy!” Judith squeals, then with the smugness of a seven-year-old, “You said a bad word!”

Negan freezes, looking like he just shat his pants. “Oh, shoot!” He says, and when he looks back at Rick again, his grin is a lot more sheepish. Carl is hiding a smile behind his fist.

Rick knows the worse is yet coming. His cramps will be bad on day two, his flow will be the heaviest on day three, and at the end of it all, he will have a migraine that will knock him off his feet, if his cycle didn’t change, and he probably needs to talk to his doctor about this, which will be embarrassing, but in that moment, Rick feels at ease.

“I guess you should try really hard not to repeat it, right, Jude?” Rick says, looking at the four people drawn on the cake, one with a phone, one with too wide shoulders, one with blonde curls, and one with a sheriff’s hat. His family, drawn by Judith, in overly bright tones.

“You know, that’s kind of weird,” Carl comments, “We are going to be eating ourselves.”

Then, Judith pouts, Rick laughs, and Negan tastes like sugar, when Rick kisses him. It's peace.

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if u think i forgot to tag a warning or smth, let me know!!


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